Life in Technicolor
by Heart in a Headlock
Summary: Because Luffy made everything colorful; and Garp was trying to take that away. ZoLu


**Disclaimer:** If I owned OP the graphics would be a lot different, and this story would be totally cannon.

I'm actually quite proud of this. It accurately portrays how I see the ZoLu relationship, and allows me to vent my anger at Garp for being such a poor granddad. Umm, warnings, warnings… slashy Zoro and Luffy implications, Garp bashing. And gashing. And otherwise torturing. We don't like Garp.

--

'Thap thap thap thap'

The dull thud of elastic flesh on wood pattered softly through the men's quarters as Zoro lay awake that night, thinking. Thinking about Luffy. About how he was always _supposed _to be smiling and happy and daft and everything he had pegged his captain to be.

And how, earlier today, he wasn't. Not at all. It was frightening- no that wasn't the word, more like jarring, to see his leader so… meek. He had seen Luffy cowed before, a regular occurrence with the beli sucking she-hag on board, but never quite so; distraught. Lost, if you will. Looking for something reassuring in a sea of disapproval, disapproval that should never, ever come from a family member. But it did. And his name was Monkey D. Garp.

Luffy looked so scared, so scared and pale and simply not ok that Zoro couldn't bring himself to be surprised when a lithe, bean pole-ish figure curled up into his hammock with him. And its name was Monkey D. Luffy; an infinitely better man than the previously mentioned D., if you asked Zoro.

"Hey, sencho." Zoro said with the gruff sort of aggressive gentleness he used with the rest of the crew (sans Sanji), rubbing the rubber boys back.

It was… odd, to say the least, the way Zoro and Luffy's relationship had developed. To put it bluntly, Zoro was the type to judge immediately and stick to his evaluation. You either like someone or you don't. Johnny and Yosaku: Like. Sanji: Don't like. Simple as one two three, in his opinion. Except… not for Luffy. Before the rubber man came in, all wide smiles and bold declarations, Zoro would tell you the world was printed in black and white. Thing is, that theory was blown away when along came the kid in the straw hat sporting a variety of grayscale. Back then, tied to the pole where he (unknowingly) was to be executed, he would tell you that he didn't like the boy, not one bit. It would've sounded like a lie, even to Zoro's own ears. Would've told you he didn't fancy the broad grins, couldn't stand the childish laughter, and abhorred the large, all-to-trusting for this world eyes.

Liar liar liar.

Because as much as he wanted to tell you everything about that rubber punk pissed him off, he couldn't. Because it really didn't, even though he knew, being Zoro, it should've. Because, he and Luffy, they clicked. Salt and pepper, peanut butter and jelly, Jak and Daxter, thunder and lightning.

And nothing about this kid was solid. Not his appetite, not his likes and dislikes, not even his bones. He was so open to new ideas; not black and white at all. Hell, the teen wasn't even content to stick to grayscale and leave some of Zoro's perception in tact; that kid had colors coming out of his ears. A new shade of colorful life for every day of the week, and then some.

And Zoro loved it. Because when Luffy was around, he could see the color in everything else, too. Things that were black and white before; he actually asked Luffy once, why everything suddenly became bright with him around. The answer was so painfully simple; he knew it to be true.

"You just weren't looking hard enough, Zoro!"

Not: "Whaddaya mean color? Of course everything's in color; I'd be worried if it wasn't!"

Luffy understood, and gave him a straight answer; because Luffy didn't hide any of his colors, either. What you see is what you get, and if you don't see the same person I do then wipe your eyes. Technicolor was a beautiful thing, after all.

And that was what worried Zoro so much about Garp; because dogs see in black and white. And he was trying to make Luffy see in black and white too; which was unacceptable, because without the youngest D. Zoro wouldn't have color either.

And that would be a damn shame, because Zoro loved the colors almost as much as the boy who uncovered them.

Because you can't help but fall in love with the realities you thought were fairytales. So, understandably, when Luffy crawled into Zoro's hammock that night and just… spilled, everything and nothing about why he wasn't colorful around Garp, about everything in his childhood, Zoro was furious.

Because no one that bright deserved a relative like that. And so, after comforting his wayward captain and listening to his slow, rhythmic breathing fall asleep, he got out of bed and went to search; because his demon had found the colors it craved, and he would be damned if he let one insignificant marine dull everything that brought good; was good, in his world.

--

It was late, very late, and in the shy rays of the moon a portly man stepped out into the street, shouting his last regards to the group of people that remained in the well lit room behind him.

'Cocky 'youngns, thinking they can just do as they please with their forces…'

Large, dog shaped cape pulled snugly over his shoulders, Admiral Monkey D. Garp walked distractedly down the small lane, lost in thought as he made his way back to his base; silently thanking Coby for nagging him to bring his oversized canine shawl. Not that he'd ever tell the punk to his face.

'Wham!'

Garp started, tumbling backwards with a disgruntled yelp at the solid wall of _something _he had just run into. Cursing and bitching, he swerved his head to stare straight ahead of him into six feet and six inches of broad shoulders and solid muscle. Something about the figure, the same something that oozed familiarity told every one of his haywire senses to run for his life, the base of his brain from the dinosaur days informing him kindly that he was fucked, and the figure with the proud squared shoulders may as well have been death himself.

However, alcohol and an inflated ego had dulled the old dog's senses; and so he went through the same routine he would with any non-marine person so unkindly standing in his way.

"Now listen here you damn civilian, this is Admiral Garp of the Marines; I'll blast you out of the water if you don't step aside you stinking little runt!"

In the moonlight he could only make out some of the monstrous figure, lithe and corded, all sharp, chiseled angles. There was no visible color in the narrow street, and the _black and white_ shadows of the unmoved figure were beginning to unnerve him. The outline of sharp, keen, distinctly shaped eyes (A trait of heritage from the South blue, maybe?) narrowed under a dark bandana, and the figures feet spread out, as if wishing to cover more ground. Pale moonlight glinted of three trinkets in his left ear, and with the new, hostile stance Garp also became acutely aware of the three very real swords dangling from a worn in holster on the figures waist.

A smooth, rumbling chuckle came from the chest of the shadow, mirthful and vindictive, with an underlying layer of _hatedestroydispatch _that chilled him to the bone. Coal grey eyes, tipped with sea foam in the center shot open, before resting, half lidded, to bore into the graying Lawman, cold fury overwhelmed by amusement at the predicament.

"Not very kind, are we; not at all." The voice was impossibly deep; but captivating, drawing him forward into rapt attention even as he pulled out his pistol in warning. Smooth warm darkness with a hint of gravel underneath, the voice continued, unfazed. "You know something geezer. I don't like you." The tone was conversational, and they may as well have been talking about the weather, but for something underlying rumble in that smoother than silk tone that promised unpleasant repenting for past sins.

"Even before we were 'formally' introduced. The idea of a _**stinking,-**_" The tone dropped to a rough snarl, the sound waves sending echoes through the empty night "_**loathsome, rat**_ in dogs clothing so close to those I care about; you can imagine how that wouldn't sit well."

You could almost hear the worn cogs of the army-man's mind creaking as the un-named (Formally introduced? When?) swordsman began to prowl, back and forth, in front of him.

Giving it all a minute to sink in, the figure took a measured, calming breath before continuing in a patent tone, switching topics.

"Tell me, have you ever studied mythology?"

Garp faltered, hand still on his pistol. What was this bastard playing at, anyway? "No I haven't read no pansy make believe stories like a 'stinkin gypsy! Those are for lazy children and fools!"

Oh. That hit a nerve. The body tensed in its tracks, fingers itching towards the hilt of the most accessible sword at the mention of gypsies. Garp sneered, showing yellowed teeth. Hook, line sinker. Ages ago, when piracy was a sloppy, new, unpracticed art, the few and far between people who had mastered the magic of whatever land they particularly resided in was referred to as 'gypsies'. They were the first to meddle in many now common things; Seastones, Den Den Mushis, and even Devil Fruits among them. This usually came out with unusual, unpredictable results; genetic discoloration of the skin or even hair was common, resulting in the spectrum of colors now seen on the heads of a few scarce descendants.

Taking a breath and continuing to walk, back and forth, the primarily one-sided conversation continued.

"Yes, well. There is one particular legend I would like to bring to attention, if I may." Obviously assuming that he may, in fact, do so, the story went on. "Through all of the many detailed and vastly varying folklore about demons, our topic, there is one belief that has held water through all of the cultures; a human weakness. It pops up under different names and through different stories, but the gist is the same. Once in every demons lifetime they find one human that makes them go soft. Almost cold turkey. No more random mass murdering, terrorizing towns, **collecting bounties**—if it would make this special person happy."

There was a new notch in his tone, and Garp could tell the climax of the speech was coming.

"They became almost human again; kind, laughable, amiable, around this one person and their chosen company. Here's the thing, Geezer: You came into this race with a bad track record, and I'm not very happy with the choices you've made at all. Unfortunately for you, you can never _really _tame a wild animal."

The steady, rhythmic, back and forth movement of leather boots on cobblestone had ceased, and the dry ice filled eyes of demon pirate hunter Roronoa Zoro (no, Straw Hat Pirate Roronoa Zoro, he reminded himself) bore into the aged marine's. He advanced slowly, calculatingly, one soft step after another. Garp twitched, terrified. He had been cautious around the man when his grandson had shown his face earlier; everyone had heard the horror stories regarding that one, but he had seemed so… placid. So happy and at ease around his worthless grandson, obviously he wasn't as scary as they said. Now though, he realized, with a growing sense of dread, exactly where all of the spook stories had come from.

"I'm terribly afraid that your grandson, Luffy, happens to be this particular demons other half. I don't take well to your threats to him at all, I really do need him; after all, for what is the sound of one hand clapping? Don't worry old man, cold blooded murder would be an atrocity in this day and age; but I'm sure we can work something out."

An elbow to his gut and solid punch to the side of his face later, Garp realized with detached horror that this was going to be a very long light. And one pistol was never going to be near enough to get him out of this one.

--

Had to do that. I always imagine Zoro as a beast of a man; at the very least 6'6 and intimidating as hell. So, Zoro and Luffy are all fluffy together, Garp gets the crap beat out of him and I finally gathered together the balls to post my first story. Everybody wins; well, except for Garp, but no one really cares about him anyway. Uhh.. not really sure if Zoro killed him or beat the crap out of him, but either way you want to think is fine.

'after all, what is the sound of one hand clapping?' refers to the fact that Zoro and Luffy are like two hands of the same person and need each other to function; after all how can one clap with only one hand? I like that metaphor (if that's even what it's called).

PS: Omigosh! I didn't even know Life in Technicolor was the name of one of the new songs by Coldplay until just now, when my brother was reading the title and he was like 'Life in Technicolor? You mean like the song?'

So I listened to the song and it's SO FREAKING PRETTY! It's, like, gonna be my ZoLu song from now on. Not to mention if you listen to it while reading the first Zoro's-thoughts-and-comforting-Luffy part it fits perfectly. So, yeah, I didn't even know this was a song until like two seconds ago. COOLIO.

Liked it? Hated it? Want to rip it apart with a chainsaw? Review and let me know! Just press the pretty button that's the same color of Zexion's hair!


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